


Like a Son (to me)

by fifty_fifty



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Episode: s01e13 Le Morte D'Arthur, Family, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Near Death Experiences, Protectiveness, Self-Sacrifice, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-16 05:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16079276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fifty_fifty/pseuds/fifty_fifty
Summary: Next to me, the prince stirs, and I focus myself on him. The fact that he fights the poison still is a testament to his strong will; he is, a warrior through and through, just as Uther intended him to be. Magic wants to take him. It wants to right the wrongs that were caused by his birth. They come for Arthur over and over, and though he cannot know it, he has a guardian angel watching over him. A boy who loves him so. A boy who thinks he knows what he is doing, that he can deny fate and destiny itself.I shake my head as I mop his brow. “If only you knew, Arthur. If only you knew.”





	Like a Son (to me)

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to schweet_heart for such a speedy turn around for the beta, you're the best! And also to all the people who've listened to me talking their ear off about this idea.Cheers!

I glance up from my potion as the door springs open. As usual, Merlin charges in, but without his customary bustle of energy. Instead, he lingers near the door, looking wretched.

I had been debating the best course of action all through the night. Ultimately, the straightforward, matter-of-fact approach seems like the best way to help Merlin come to terms with Arthur’s death. The poor lad is suffering greatly from his wound, and though I know Arthur will not give up whilst he still has breath, I also know that he will not last much longer. This potion I’ve been concocting… It should relieve some of the pain, make the end peaceful. It is the kindest thing to do given the circumstances.

“Merlin,” I call to him, swirling the potion to ensure that the ingredients are fully mixed. “You're back. I need your help. You must get this to Arthur to ease his passing.”

The silly boy shakes his head, grabbing some food from the table and proceeding to wrap it with a piece of cloth. “No,” he insists bullheadedly. “We have to save him.”

I turn to face him. “You've already tried,” I point out.

“The beast comes from the Old Religion,” he tells me, almost breathless in his desperation to save Arthur. “The cure must come from there as well.”

I would wonder where he got his information from, but I have a sneaking suspicion that I know the source. Merlin continues to pack his bag, and I have a sinking feeling in my gut about what he will say next. Outwardly, I merely raise my eyebrow at him. “There are not many left with such an art.”

“You said yourself, the Old Religion is still alive,” he points out, using my own words against me as he crosses the room to get a waterskin. He continues excitedly, “and there is an island beyond the White Mountains…”

“No!” I snap. I stalk over to him, hoping that I can scare some sense into him. I know exactly where the boy means, and he must not go to that cursed place at any cost. But it does not pay to be headstrong with my boy. No, indeed, he is better won around with respect and reason.

“The Isle of the Blessed…” he breathes. “You know it?”

I bow my head and take a deep breath. If the boy is already aware of the Isle, then it is pointless for me to deny its existence. But perhaps I can shape his thoughts, help to guide him on his path. Perhaps that is the role I am destined to play: a mentor to help shape this desperate, kind-hearted boy. Maybe he can even somehow pull this off. The Goddess knows he is not yet aware of how deep his power goes.

“It was said to be the centre of the Old Religion,” I tell him. “The focus of its power.”

He looks at me as though betrayed, as I knew he would. Merlin has always worn his heart on his sleeve. He is hurt that I would have kept this from him, and yet, I had to. I could not risk losing him. “Why did you keep this from me?” he asks.

“Because it was too dangerous, Merlin,” I tell him. It is, after all, the truth.

“It's our only chance!” he says indignantly. I stifle a sigh. I knew that he would be like this. He is so young, and so desperate to save the prince I have seen him grow to love and adore. I fear there may be no stopping him. “I have to find it!” He strides past me with his bundles, in search of the other things he needs to prepare himself for the journey. My heart sinks, but my head tells me that maybe he can still be won around. I do not want to lose Merlin. I cannot. He means too much to me, to his mother, and to the people of Camelot.

“And once you are there, what will you ask?” I challenge him, begging him to see reason in the face of this madness.

“For Arthur to be saved,” he tells me obstinately. As though the magic will care. As though the high priestesses, if there are any of them left, will give a fig for what he wants. As if they will be grieved that Arthur is dying as much as Merlin is.

“The Questing Beast chose Arthur,” I tell him, raising my voice. I am starting to lose my temper. How can he not realise that this is futile? He is taking a stupid, pointless risk that cannot pay off. What he is asking for is impossible! “That means the Old Religion has decided his fate.”

I am not the only one who has grown angry. Merlin’s face changes, going hard and exasperated as he screws up his face and yells at me, “Then I will convince them to change their minds!”

“It is not that simple!” I yell back. The boy is infuriating! We have had our disagreements before, and he has readily disobeyed me since the moment he stepped foot in my chambers, but this is the worst fight we’ve had yet. Were I a violent man, I would be tempted to throttle him so as to force him to pay attention. I sigh. My heart is old and too heavy for our quarrel; I was not made to argue so with those that I love.

The boy seems to notice the change and he softens too. Finally, he looks ready to listen. I take the chance he is giving me and calm myself. “The High Priests have the power to mirror life and death,” I explain carefully, desperate to warn him of the perils involved. I pause, gathering myself, preparing for what I know must be inevitable. He loves Arthur too much. “But... there will be a price to pay. They will demand a life in return. Merlin, please…” My voice starts to break with the strength of the emotion and love that I feel for this boy, _my boy_. As Merlin stares back at me, scared but determined nonetheless, I give him my final plea, knowing that despite how much he must know that I care for him, he cares for Arthur more. “I beg of you.”

“I'm sorry, Gaius,” he says softly, and his face is earnest. So very earnest. He is sorry, I know that he is. But I also know what he is going to say next. It is as certain as the sun rising in the morning and setting in the evening. “Whatever the price is, I will pay it gladly.”

My heart aches as he strides past me, every inch the man he will never grow to be, feeling as though it has plummeted impossibly into my boots. Oh, my boy. My stubborn, obstinate, wonderful, precious boy. How ill-prepared I was for how much I would come to love you when you walked into this room so many moons ago.

I decide it’s best to give him some time on his own to think. It would be pointless to chase him down and continue to discuss the matter with him, even if I could possibly keep up with him. I am not as spry as I once was, though I am sure there are those who underestimate my ability to keep up. The stairs to my rooms and walking the castle give me plenty of exercise, and advising Uther and improving my medicines are a good workout for my brain.

Instead, I go back to Prince Arthur’s potion and add one final ingredient to make it more potent. I say a silent prayer to the Gods of the Old Religion that they may receive him with no pain, or that Merlin may somehow succeed in his foolish, ill-thought-out plan.

It’s past noon when I finally locate Merlin again, standing outside in the courtyard where he is making the final preparations for his horse. I regret being so harsh with him earlier in the day. I must accept that I am not the boy’s father—not that he is really even a boy anymore. He is young and impetuous, but he is fast becoming his own man as he grows out of his boyhood into something greater. I pause for a moment as I watch him from the castle steps. Am I doing the right thing? Merlin is so determined that he can save Arthur—though the prince is beyond mortal help—that he has taken leave of his senses. I know that I shouldn’t get involved, that I should let the Gods decide what happens. But if I can meddle with Merlin’s plans _ever so slightly_ , then I might just be able to save this boy I have come to think of as mine, and protect him from harm along with his prince.

A thought had occurred to me once I had administered my potion to Prince Arthur. The poor boy; at least he is comfortable whilst he waits for his fate to befall him, but I fear that Merlin is fast running out of time. I still have my rabbit’s foot safely stashed away. It was a gift, given to me by my mother when I was a boy. Given to me for luck. It was said to have been blessed by the High Priestesses of the very Isle that Merlin is now intending to go to. A precious rarity, if it is true. Maybe people believe in the superstition of a lucky rabbit's foot, but there are now far too many forgeries to be certain that it is the genuine article.

I don’t believe there have been any blessed since Uther first started his purge. Magic was damaged then, torn and left bleeding by Uther’s rage, and those who managed to escape his wrath went deep into hiding. If there is anything that can keep Merlin safe, however, I believe it could be this, if it _is_ the real deal. It probably nonsense, but I have carried it with me before, and it seemed to protect me during times of need. It is time I passed it on. As I have never had a child of my own, I can think of no other that I cherish as much as Merlin. I do not know what I may do by interfering, but I will ensure my boy is safe.

I make my way across the courtyard to him, rabbit’s foot and map in hand.

“Here,” I say, handing him the roll of parchment as a peace offering. “You'll need a map.”

He accepts it from me and opens it, scanning it for a brief moment before closing it and giving me a small nod. Though I believe his sense of direction to be better than Arthur makes it out to be, it will not harm him to have some guidance, and the map will speed him on his way with the route I have marked on it.

I hold up the rabbit’s foot and smile at him. It’s still wrapped up in leather, as it was when I put it away so long ago.

“And I’m going to give you this.” Merlin looks down at the small token that I am offering him and tilts his head, his face the picture of curiosity. My heart thunders in my chest as I realise that he is going to take it from me. Am I really going to intervene with such forces of magic like this? Selfish old man that I am, Merlin is too important to me not to. I deposit the little package into his open hand. “My mother gave it to me.” Oh, my sweet, precious mother. She is long gone. Died long ago and my father married again. In his later years, when they had given up all hope, they had had Hunith. I cannot say that I took much interest in her, being a young man with the whole world to explore and new things to discover, but still she placed her son in my charge.

I watch as Merlin unwraps the bundle and holds the rabbit’s foot in his palm.

“It's a rabbit's foot,” I tell him. If he has been doing his reading, he will likely have encountered information about them himself, though if not through his studies, then he ought to have learned of them by word of mouth.

“To keep you safe,” he says, obviously remembering at least _some_ of what I have taught him.

“It was said to protect you from evil spirits,” I agree. It’s probably pointless. A mere rabbit’s foot to keep this boy safe? Even if it does work, who would the magic take in his place? I am foolish to meddle in such things. I’ve changed my mind. I want it back. Perhaps I can laugh it off. “It's rubbish. I don't believe in superstition. I don't know why I gave it to you,” I tell him tersely, reaching for the damn thing. But the boy jerks his hand away, keeping it from my reach.

“No,” he insists. “I want it.” He smiles at me, pleased that I would give him such a gift. My old heart gives a sick lurch as I realise how much he trusts me. He believes that I would never do anything that would cause him harm, and it is true. I would not. I know in my heart that I would die for him and do it gladly. His smile grows big and bright, and he nods in gratitude as he tucks the foot into his jacket. “Thank you.” He lets out a deep sigh and readies himself to mount. “You've got to keep Arthur alive until I get back,” he warns me, and then he’s up on the back of his horse, rushing off to save his prince.

I watch until he disappears from view, and then I turn and shake my head and make my way back to the young prince’s chambers with a heavy heart. I will do what I can, but he does not have much time.

I sit in a chair next to Camelot’s unconscious prince, watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest as he struggles for his breath. He is calm now, after a fitful few hours where he thrashed and groaned, seemingly immune to my attempts to relieve his pain. Uther is beginning to despair. He does not think Arthur will recover. Left to the care of mortal medicine and science, I know that he will not. We need something more. We need _magic_ if Arthur is to survive and we both know it, though Uther referred to it as a miracle. Fortunately, I know just where to find one. He has been living under my roof, sharing my food and assisting me with my work for many months now.

It is getting late and dusk has begun to fall. Surely Merlin must be almost there by now, if he has followed the route I marked on his map. I wonder what he will find there on the Isle. Are there any priestesses left that will answer his call? I know of only one who is alive for certain, for she has tried to dispose of Merlin before. Nimueh. I grip the arm of my chair and close my eyes, uttering a prayer to the Triple Goddess that she may protect my boy. Let that trinket keep him safe from any harm Nimueh would seek to cause him. Do not let her take him from me.

Next to me, the prince stirs, and I leave all such thoughts behind as I focus myself on him. The fact that he fights the poison still is a testament to his strong will; he is, a warrior through and through, just as Uther intended him to be. Magic wants to take him. It wants to right the wrongs that were caused by his birth. They come for Arthur over and over, and though he cannot know it, he has a guardian angel watching over him. A boy who loves him so. A boy who thinks he knows what he is doing, that he can deny fate and destiny itself.

I shake my head as I mop his brow. “If only you knew, Arthur. If only you knew.”

It is late when I return to my chambers that night. After watching the prince recover from the impossible and seeing the joy that lit up his father’s face, I slipped from the room, leaving them alone to enjoy the time I never thought they’d have to be father and son.

I was eager to get home and find Merlin, to discover exactly what he had done. I had been of half a mind not to administer the water at all when he had rushed me to Arthur’s bedside. Though I did not know what or whom Merlin had traded for certain, I suspected it was himself. I only hoped that magic would choose to take another instead, deeming him too important, or that that ridiculous piece of superstition I gave him would somehow protect him from the bargain he struck. If the rabbit's foot really does ward off evil, a bargain upon which your life is forfeit would surely count. The deal was already done, however, and Uther had been looming over us, eager, hopeful that Arthur may yet live, so we had administered it. Now I must face the consequences.

I begin my long ascent up the stairs to my rooms, both legs and heart weary. I hope against hope that when I get there, most of the candles will be out and the fire banked, and Merlin… That Merlin will be tucked up safe and sound in his bed. I must believe it, for the worst is not worth thinking about.

Or perhaps he will still be awake, wearing a groove in my floor where he has paced back and forth, waiting for me to return with news. I open the door, and a thankfulness fills my heart, because sure enough, there he is: waiting. Desperate to know the truth.

“The prince lives,” I tell him.

His expression transforms from one of concern to a smile full of joy and disbelief. He huffs out a sound and holds his head as he spins excitedly around the room, before he finally sits and smiles at me. He is clearly expecting me to share in his happiness, but I stare at him gloomily and cannot. I know now what must come to pass. That the boy has succeeded in his mad plan to save his prince at any cost. He cannot hold my accusatory gaze, and he looks away, head ducked with regret. We do not exchange another word as we go about our evening routines, except for a terse ‘goodnight’. I cannot bear the thought that he will be gone by daybreak, his life snuffed out like a candle. I cannot even bring myself to be nice. I am an old man and apparently a selfish one, one who wishes to indulge and wallow in his own hurt. And when I am tucked into my warm cot, my heart… it does not know how it will cope.

When I awake in the morning, it is to the most peculiar feeling that something is very, very wrong. That something has happened that was not meant to be. I listen carefully for any signs of life from the little room behind me, hoping against hope that his heart still beats, his lungs draw breath, and that magic still runs through his veins.

It’s then that I hear it; a quiet, shuddering gasp. I sit up and look around the room, spying suddenly the collapsed form that lies in the middle of it. I jump from my bed in far too spry a manner for a man of my age and rush to them. Who is it? What do they ail from? How can I help? I pull on my physician’s mask. But even that cannot contain my horror when I turn the poor soul’s face to mine and understand who it is.

Hunith.

My stomach twists. My own sister. But I know if I am to save her, I cannot let my heart rule over my head. I quickly catalogue her symptoms, checking her over gently until she opens her eyes and I see a glimmer of recognition in them. I stop for a moment and stroke her hair, comforting her without words.

A door is flung open behind me, and Merlin bursts from his room with a joyous yell. “Gaius! I'm alive!”

My back stiffens. Of course. I turn back to Hunith and move to shield the boy from his sickly mother. I must get rid of him and try to treat her quietly, so that he will not know what fate has befallen her.

I hear his footsteps drawing nearer. “What is it? What's happened?” he calls, anxiety lacing his voice.

I try once more to hide her from him, calling out sternly, “Merlin, stay there!”

“What's wrong?” he asks.

“No, don't!” I glance over my shoulder and see he’s coming closer, having refused to heed my warning. He peers around me, and I can feel his panic.

“Mother!” he gasps. He gets down beside me then, his face scanning hers with a mixture of alarm and despair.

Hunith, bless her, recognises her son and tries to reach for him, his name falling from her sore, parched lips. “Merlin.”

“What's happened to her?” Merlin asks, barely containing his distress.

“She's gravely ill.” I continue to examine her, trying to remember where I have seen such sores previously. She’s burning up, so hot to touch. A feeling of dread starts to fill me as I realise that I have observed such symptoms before. When sorcery, hexes and curses were all freely used. Before the Great Purge. And the result is always death.

“Do something!” he demands, as if I am a miracle worker rather than a physician.

“If I only could—” I begin.

“Please, Gaius!” he interrupts with pain in his voice.

“Merlin, this is no ordinary illness,” I warn him. The poor boy, he is distraught. I look back at Hunith, trying to decide the best course of treatment as I cradle her head.

“This cannot happen,” he says, as horrified as I was when I woke.

I turn to look at him. “Who did you meet at the Isle of the Blessed?”

“Nimueh,” he tells me.

“Nimueh?!” Foolish, foolish boy! He should never have trusted the witch.

“It was as you said,” he admits, though it does nothing to me to hear it. “She demanded a price, but I bargained my life, not my mother’s!”

“Merlin.” I sigh. “I wish there was something I could do.”

Hunith whimpers with pain, and Merlin moves to take her hand in his.

“I will make you better,” he tells her. He nods his head and repeats the words more firmly, as though willing her to believe in him. “I will.”

I cannot bear to tell him that I don’t hold out much hope for her. She is already far too exhausted, her symptoms far too extensive and with a raging fever to boot. But as I have learnt this year, if anyone can do the impossible, it’s Merlin.

The fire crackles in the grate, the only sound that fills the room. It is late and I cannot sleep. Hunith is resting. I dosed her with all that I could, used all the knowledge that I have. But I am powerless to save her from the dark magic that has ensnared her. I feel a deep sense of guilt and responsibility for her condition. If I had not given Merlin that damned rabbit’s foot, I do not think she would be at death's door. And yet... if I hadn’t... It would be Merlin lying there in his bed, struggling to breathe, dying in agony. And which would be worse? The mother, or the son? I cannot decide between the two of them.

Finally, the door slowly opens. Merlin has returned.

“Where is she?” he asks softly.

I look over my shoulder towards his room. “She’s sleeping,” I tell him from my seat at the table. I cannot even muster a reassuring smile.

I know that I have played my part in this whole sorry affair, though I do believe it was necessary. I know that Merlin was not supposed to be taken this way. It would have been pointless. A tragedy. What was the prince without his sorcerer? Even if Merlin had saved Arthur’s life at the cost of his own, where would that leave Camelot the next time an errant sorcerer decided to attack?

At last Merlin closes the door, and then he is sitting on the bench at the table opposite me. I do not remember seeing him walk over; I must have been lost in my own thoughts. His head is bowed and he sniffles a little before he finally speaks.

“I have to save her,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper.

I look at him with sympathy. I know the guilt that he feels. I share it. But no one can trifle with the forces of life and death like this and come out of it unscathed. Magic will always find a way to take what it is due.

“You cannot,” I tell him.

“If the balance of the world needs a life,” he says, his voice wavering with emotion, “then Nimueh _must_ take mine.”

I stare at him disbelievingly. “No, Merlin.” I want to forbid him. I want to keep him here, force him to stay in these chambers and keep him safe.

“Yes,” he says, ignoring me. “I will return to the island.” He starts to get up, ready to leave immediately. I reach out to him and he sits again.

“You are young,” I tell him, trying to get him to realise how stupid his proposal is. The boy is relentless in his determination to right the wrongs of the world. If Merlin were to sacrifice himself for Arthur’s, and consequently his mother’s life, then everything he has done, all that he has given up, will have been for nothing. “Your gifts, your destiny are far too precious to sacrifice.”

I thought I had done enough to prevent this, to circumnavigate the boy’s death, and yet here he is, so desperate to throw his life away again, regardless of what it would do to others, to the prophecy. I understand his desperation; this was not the deal he thought he’d agreed upon with Nimueh, but magic does not abide by such pacts. It cares not for whom it takes; it just wants balance. If it cannot have the son, then it will take the mother. Oh, Hunith... my own sister. What sacrifices we all make for destiny.

“My destiny?” he scoffs. “This is my mother. My powers mean nothing if I cannot save her.” He looks at me, tears gleaming in his eyes. “You have taught me so much…” The tears start to fall down his cheeks, and I wish that I could look away, for I know what he is doing. He is saying his goodbyes. And I do not deserve this boy’s admiration, his praise, his very earnestness. I have not earned it. “Taught me who I am... Taught me the purpose for my skills... Taught me that magic should only be used for great deeds. But most of all, you have _always_ taught me... to do what is _right_.”

Oh, Merlin. Yes, I have tried my best to instill these values in you, because I know that, already, you are a better man that I will ever be. It is too late for me to change my ways, but you... your mind is young, and you can still shape it, still grow to be the best person that you can. Your dear mother has laid such a good foundation, and if you should somehow survive this, it will be up to me to help you build upon that and to keep you safe, for her sake as much as my own.

“Merlin...” I wish I knew the right words to say, the words that will stop him. But as more tears start to fall, I know that there is only one decision he was ever going to make, for his mother and Arthur both. He would give everything for them.

Merlin looks away and sniffles, swiping at his eyes, but he does not wipe away his tears for there is no shame in them. “I need to say goodbye to Arthur,” he tells me, his voice thick as he hurries from the room.

I bow my head and contemplate what a mess this has become. Merlin is so, so precious, and not just to me. I have been studying the legends of _Emrys_ , scouring the library for all reading materials that can be found. Emrys is wise and strong, benevolent and bold. He is the most powerful sorcerer the world will ever know, and he will rise with the Once and Future King to bring about a golden age of peace and enlightenment. Merlin is young and foolish and headstrong, but he has such a naive, loving heart. He has such incredible magic and is capable of so much more than he dreams is possible. Though I have not told him of my suspicions yet, I believe Merlin and Emrys to be one and the same. He is not mature enough to know, to understand the responsibilities that lie ahead. He is still too young to be burdened with such knowledge. The boy is even too young for his powers. And it would not pay for him to get a big head.

With this knowledge, I find that I cannot regret causing Hunith so much suffering, not really. Merlin must live. _Emrys_ must live. But the boy suffers so greatly, and believing he has caused his mother's death may destroy him, turning him away from love, light and goodness. I must save him the only way that I can. I will make the ultimate sacrifice for him. I know Nimueh. I have bargained with her before. I will go and offer myself in Merlin’s stead. Once she knows that he is Emrys, she will grant me this. She will take my life instead of his, because magic cannot let Emrys turn away from his destiny, and thus both he and his mother will survive.

I will leave tonight, as soon as I can. Gwen is a good girl; she will watch over Hunith until Merlin returns. That way I will be gone before the boy even realises, and he will not be able to stop me. I will put this whole thing right.

I grab a piece of parchment and a quill, and begin to write.

As I sit in the boat as it travels across the lake, my heart, my very soul feels lighter than it ever has. I have done so many wrongs in the name of my king, sacrificed so many for the greater good, that this feels like a good and honourable death. A final act by which to redeem myself, to prove I am something greater than I ever was before.

The Isle is a ruin compared to its heyday; rundown buildings and broken walls are all that remain. But as I step out onto dry land and make my way to the center, I can see that the altar remains untouched, unaffected by time and weather. The air here is still thick with magic, tainted by darkness and death and destruction. It makes me shudder.

I wait patiently by the altar. I know that she will come. She will have felt my presence. She will enjoy seeing me here, ready to humble myself before her.

“I never thought I'd see you here again.” Her voice echoes, twisting all around me, but I cannot see her. I turn, and then I see her walking down from the steps of the only temple that still looks habitable. Uther tore the place to the ground after Ygraine’s death and ripped the sorceresses limb from limb. If you listen carefully, you can still hear their screaming in the wind.

“My Lady.”

“It's a long time since you called me that,” she comments.

I stand my ground. She shall not ruffle me. Not now, when I have come to face my death. I will die with dignity.

“I come to ask for your help.”

“As you did once before, for Uther?” she asks. Her voice turns hard. “You did not like the outcome.”

“I offer a chance for you to atone for the death of his wife.” Nimueh and Ygraine had been such close friends. I hope to appeal to the side of her that once cared, once loved.

“I have saved the life of her son,” she says indignantly. “What more do you ask for?”

“That this time, you take a just price. Merlin intends to offer his life for his mother's. I want you to take mine in his place.”

Laughter falls from ruby red lips as she tips back her beautiful face. “With all my powers of prediction, I could never have foretold this,” she says sarcastically, very much amused. “Gaius the hero. Why should I grant your wish? You stood and watched as our friends burned in the Great Purge. You are nothing but a traitor.”

“Merlin is the one man who can bring magic back to this land,” I tell her. “At Arthur's side, he can help forge a new kingdom. A world of peace and beauty that we can only dream of.”

She raises a curious eyebrow at me. “And you're willing to give your life, Gaius, for the future they will bring?” She pauses, watching me with her piercing, all-seeing eyes. “I'm waiting. Are you ready to die, Gaius?” She looks at me, an unbecoming smirk on her face as she waits for my response. “Gaius?”

I take a deep breath. This is is. If these are to be my last words, then I am glad that they are these. “For Merlin... I will give my life.”

She steps towards me and begins to chant a spell. “Ic, séo héahsácerd, þe ácwile strengþe ealdan æwfæstnesse!” The words echo strangely in my ears as I collapse to the ground. I can feel the way that magic starts to grip at me, pulling and tugging.

Yes, take me. Take my life, I beg of you. Merlin did not know what he was doing. He will help the Once and Future King restore magic to the land, and they will reach greatness together.

Take me.

Take me.

The magic does, and I know no more.

Water.

It’s cold.

My face is wet. I ache all over.

Why do I still feel? I died. I know that I died.

There is a voice sobbing near my ear, and I suddenly realise who it is. For who else could it be? Merlin. Oh, that dear, dear boy. He does not know his own power, his own strength. How could he have brought me back? Only the most skilled of High Priestess can do that. He’s had no training, no instruction and yet… Nimueh took my life, I am sure of it.

“Merlin,” I manage to mutter.

“Gaius. Gaius, you're alive!” He hugs me and pulls me close, though I cannot move. Not yet. I am too weak, too tired.

“What did you do?”

“Nimueh's dead,” he tells me, and I startle at the news. What? That should not be possible. “The balance of the world has been restored.”

“You amaze me,” I tell him, dazed and laughing. “You've mastered the power of life and death itself. We'll make a great warlock of you yet.”

“So you believe in me now?” he asks, amusement colouring his voice.

“Well, I would do,” I say, and I would smile if I could, but I can barely summon the energy to breathe. It’s so damned cold. “If—If you could stop this blasted rain.”

We lie there laughing, I could not tell you how long for. Suffice to say, I knew I was going to catch a cold. Once we finally stopped. Merlin helped me to my feet and whispered a spell to warm me and dry my clothes. Not that either lasted long, given the rain. It followed us all the way to Camelot, never once ceasing or easing up, despite Merlin’s attempts to stop it.

Honestly, this boy.

He is like a son to me, and I would not change him for the world.


End file.
